


If The Fates Allow

by FreeWinona



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeWinona/pseuds/FreeWinona
Summary: Joyce & Hopper meet-cute in Melvald’s over the holidays, Will & Jonathan make an appearance. Life in Hawkins before the upside-down.





	If The Fates Allow

_Christmas, 1982_

It was quarter to seven on December 21st, and Joyce Byers was finally coming up on the tail end of her shift at Melvald's General Store. She was all alone, sitting at the checkout counter, chin in her hands, mindlessly flipping through the latest issue of Cosmopolitan and listening to Brenda Lee’s holiday hits on the tape deck. Nearly an hour had passed now without a single customer and the minutes were crawling by.

Busy little bee that she was, Joyce had already swept, restocked the shelves, dusted the displays at the front of the store and replaced a few worn snowflakes hanging in the windows. She even remembered to water the poinsettias. All she had left to do now was cash out, and she was gone. Her fuddy-duddy of a boss wouldn’t normally approve of such things, but Joyce decided to close out her cash register early anyway. Donald would just have to understand.

Tonight was special after-all: the Hawkins Middle School Christmas pageant began at seven-thirty sharp, and she would need to lock up the store within the next twenty minutes to get there on time. The sixth-grade students were putting on a production of  _A Christmas Carol_ , Will was playing Tiny Tim, and she couldn't be more thrilled. She was so proud, in fact, that she had bragged non-stop all day to anyone who'd listen.

Her youngest had devoted the past two weeks to rehearsing with his brother and friends in her living room, while she sat cross-legged on the floor, reading their stage directions aloud. She knew that script word for word by that point and while he might not have the most lines like Mike or the funniest ones like Lucas and Dustin, Will’s lines were the most important of the whole play, in her opinion. She was more than excited to see her baby's debut performance.

Jonathan had called the store shortly after six to say he was running late and might not make it to the store in time to pick up the finishing touches for Will's costume before he needed to get his brother back to the school. Joyce still had the pageboy cap (she had finished sewing it on her lunch break that afternoon) and a crutch borrowed from the pharmacy down the street, so she absolutely, positively could. Not. Be. Late.

She was nearly done tallying up her receipts with two minutes to close when she heard the bell on the door chime behind her. Of course a customer would walk in as she was closing up tonight, the only night of the year she had somewhere important to be.

"Oh come on," she muttered under her breath, looking up in time to see her inconsiderate shopper breeze by. The familiar face glanced her way and gave a slight nod, acknowledging her unapologetic stare. He looked like a man on a mission brushing the fresh snowflakes off his corduroy jacket with that perpetually annoyed expression on his face. 

It was always a strange sight to see Hopper out of uniform. 

That night, he was wearing a festive plaid flannel and jeans. His dirty blonde hair was mussed, missing it's sheriff's hat, and day-old whiskers shadowed his cheeks. He passed the disheveled look off like it was intentional — even though she knew that he had likely just rolled out of bed from patrol the night before and didn't give a hoot what he looked like. That just made it all the more sexier in her opinion and she scolded herself for thinking that way. She couldn’t help herself, though. He was aging into the perfect blend of Harrison Ford and Jack Nicholson: A bit rough around the edges, handsome as hell, and cocky... like he knew it. 

Her heart was creeping its way into her throat as she watched him head to the back of the store.  _You don’t like him like that anymore, s_ he reminded herself sternly (even though she knew deep down it was a lie).

Bee-lining to where Donald kept the liquor, he snuck another glance back at Joyce before turning down the aisle and disappearing from view. She pretended not to notice and promptly checked her reflection in the dark windows, thanking her good sense that morning to put a bit more effort into her hair and makeup for the pageant tonight. Smoothing her new bangs in vain, she took out the cherry chapstick from her vest pocket, popping some color on her lips. Joyce was nonchalant but mentally preparing for the worst.

An unsavory exchange at the supermarket on Labor Day that year had left a sour taste in her mouth and she vividly recalled swearing to herself on the drive home that if she never saw Jim Hopper again, it would be too soon. She regretted every word she said by the time the groceries were put away and meant to apologize when she saw him again, but in spite of their small hometown, they managed to avoid each other for the rest of autumn. Joyce really couldn't be too surprised to see him now; they were well overdue for a run-in, and it was quickly becoming apparent he was meant to play the Ghost of Christmas Past in this twisted little production of her life.

But maybe (emphasis on  _maybe_ ) enough time had passed now, and Hopper wouldn’t be on the defensive with her this time. He could see for himself that she was doing good and she could let him know that she took his words of advice, got her life back on track. She could finally, properly thank him. They could both say their sorry’s and move on.

Sure, it wasn’t the greatest timing, and she had maybe less than ten minutes to follow through on this little burst of spontaneity, but she could work with what she was given and was grateful for the opportunity at a fresh start. This could be her new year’s resolution for ’83, and it was something she could get started on right now.

She had unplugged the Christmas lights in the window, turned the radio and overhead lights off and moved the open sign to 'closed' by the time he reappeared.

_Out of all the stores in all the towns, in all of Indiana..._

This had to be fates giving her the nudge she needed to make amends. Or maybe she had just listened to one too many sappy Christmas songs that day, and they rotted her brain. A hundred ways to say hello ran through her head, but any notion she had about where the conversation would take them went out the window the second he opened his mouth.

"Am I keeping you?" he called out across the darkened store, leisurely taking his time walking back, making it clear he didn't give a shit either way… slower than molasses in January.

Despite the actual answer and her simmering annoyance at his choice of greeting, she shook her head 'no' and peered at the contents he carried up to the checkout with wide eyes.

"You okay there?"

Hopper scowled at the question, shifting the weight in his arms. She raised an eyebrow at him, pushing for an answer.

"Yeah, what's it to ya?" he finally muttered, looming over her on the other side of the counter now, but Joyce didn’t back down.

She looked pointedly at him. His arms were full; a 40 of Jim Beam and Stoli were both tucked into the crook of one arm, with a box of wine wedged under the other. He expertly balanced three six packs and a stack of styrofoam cups on top of two flats of beer.

“‘Lot of booze for one person. Even you."

She meant for her comment to come off as light-hearted teasing, but it fell flat. Rolling his eyes at her concern, Hopper dropped the beer on the counter with a thud, stacking the other items around unceremoniously. One of the bottles rolled towards the edge of the counter, and Joyce thankfully caught it before it could fall, placing it gently down next to his other items.

She didn't mean to pry, but as long as she had known him, Hopper was possibly the most stubborn man she had ever met. If he were suffering, he’d die before he’d let on, and that worried Joyce more than she cared to admit. Over the last few Christmases, she had watched him from afar, a silent witness to his inner struggles dealing with the holiday season. She could only imagine how he felt, especially since she could barely cope herself after her own divorce. But to lose your only child too? She couldn’t bear the thought.

Even if they weren't exactly on speaking terms, and even if he drove her up the wall when they did see each other, he was still (kind of) her friend. She felt compelled to ask, if only for her peace of mind.

"It's not all for me, Joyce. It's the PD Christmas potluck tonight," his irritation peaked, and he waved the sleeve of cups at her with a wry look on his face, like it should have been obvious.

"Oh, well my mistake then,“ she snapped her mouth shut, feeling stupid she didn't think of that first and even more so for assuming. Joyce grabbed the cups from Hopper and found the price tag, focusing on the task to take her mind off the fact she could sense his eyes watching her every move.

"Gimme a pack of camels too," he sniffed. Two twenties were flicked at her across the counter, like he was leaving cash on the nightstand. Like he didn’t even know her at all.

Joyce’s blood started to boil.

"Say please," she snapped, glaring at him. It wasn't what Hopper said; it was how he said it.

He locked eyes with Joyce, not budging, and now it was her turn to roll her eyes. It didn't take long before she gave in and grabbed his pack of smokes from the drawer under the counter, adding them to the total, punching the price in with a tepid fury. So much for peace on earth and goodwill to men. Not only was he making her late, but he was ruining her mood now too.

Her cheeks smoldered, but Joyce held her tongue, fighting the burning desire to tell him off. A small part of her recalled that this is what always happened between them: she’d go out of her way to initiate the conversation, trying her best to be pleasant, if not a bit friendly (sometimes even a bit flirty). Hop would instantly go on the defense with an ignorant remark or two. She would retort to start the fight, and then they were off to the races. Both would walk away smarting, leaving all the words they shouldn’t have said hanging in the air for all of Hawkins to see. Everyone in town knew that Joyce and Hopper were on the outs and had been for a long while.

But after all the damn self-help books she had read that year, it finally clicked: They didn’t have to ride on this merry-go-round of hurt feelings anymore. She knew she could break the cycle if she really wanted to. Truth be told, she missed his companionship, and if there was one thing Joyce was in need of right now, it was a friend… _maybe even something more_. It drove her batty how much she wanted to console him as a friend, throttle him like a nemesis and rip his clothes off all at the same damn time.

Clearing her throat, she spoke up again, refusing to give in to his silent treatment, “Got any plans for the holidays?”

He grunted in response, making her venture a guess that was a “no,” or “none of your business,” — possibly both.

Joyce carried on, fidgeting with the box of wine. She looked for the price, instead of at him, “Well, the boys and I are planning a big breakfast on Christmas morning, um, since I work Christmas Eve. You should stop by. I mean, if you don’t have anything else going on..." She side-eyed his reaction and set the wine aside.

Hopper’s eyes narrowed. His mouth drew tight at her words as if he was considering it for a split second, before he declined with a curt, "No, thank you." Didn’t even bother with an excuse.

The outright dismissal took her back by surprise before she quickly recovered with a half-shrug, half-smile.

"Oh okay, maybe next year,” she said, just hoping she didn’t look as defeated as she felt.

With a sober nod, Hopper let his attention fall to the items on the counter between them. He passed them off to Joyce without another word as she rang them up, one by one. With each button pressed, the silence between them grew more and more awkward. Joyce expected some pushback from Hopper, but this was really taking the cake. Here she was, putting herself out there, doing her best to extend an olive branch during the holiday season, and he was still holding a grudge.  _Un-be-lievable._

She wasn't about to give up, though. She wanted to make it clear to him that this little game they continued to play year after year had gone on long enough. They were both adults now, and it was time to put their differences aside. Forgive and forget.

Joyce would melt Hopper's little Grinch heart, even if it killed her.

She gave him his receipt and change, slowing down to let the tips of her fingers pause over the palm of his hand. Joyce lingered for a slow, taciturn moment until she finally caught his eye, her thumb brushing over his. Hopper's steely demeanor softened at her touch, if only for a brief moment in time, and there it was: a fleeting glimpse of the man she once knew.

Her voice was quiet when she spoke again, "Merry Christmas, Hop."

His acknowledgment was barely there, but unmistakable. He gave a subtle squeeze back before pocketing the change.

To an outsider, it would have looked like nothing more than a momentary pause between acquaintances or perfect strangers, but to them, it was a spark of hope on the longest night of the year.

"Merry Christmas, Joy," the words tumbled from his mouth like he didn't want to say it, but she could tell he meant it nevertheless. And just as quickly as the moment fell over them, it passed.  

Without another word, he opened the pack of Camels and lit up, ignoring the ‘ _No-Smoking’_  sign taped to the wall behind Joyce. She didn’t bother to say anything, watching, amused as a puff of smoke enveloped him in the dark of the store, like a magician making his grand exit. Loading up his arms, he took one last glance to make sure he got everything and was on his way. Her heart was heavy to watch him go, but what could she do? Chase after him? Beg him to talk it out? Force him to be her friend again? It was going to have to be on his terms if anything, and it was clear to her now that he wasn't ready to make nice.

The door swung open before Hop could reach it, and Will ran into Melvald’s only to stop short, practically colliding head first into the beer.

“Chief,” Jonathan nodded politely.

"Hi uh, M-mister Hopper,” Will smiled up at the tall man he recognized as his mom's old friend before running over to her counter to grab his hat from her outstretched hand.  

"Hi baby," Joyce beamed at her youngest, admiring his costume. "You look great! Very Dickens!"

Will proudly donned the pageboy hat for his mother's approval and grabbed the crutch. “Thank you! Love you! See you at school,” he called to Joyce over his shoulder, running back to where Jonathan was offering his assistance to Hopper.

"Need a hand with that, sir?” The teen didn’t bother to wait for a response from the police chief, shifting his camera bag upon his shoulder, and grabbing the bottles off the top of the stack, while Will held the door for them.

Hopper could only watch it happen; he was bombarded by the trio of Byers’ and completely caught off guard. He looked down at the two smiling boys in front of him before looking back at Joyce, who was glowing at the sight of her polite, little men.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Take these, too.”

Jonathan grabbed the six-packs without hesitation from under Hopper's arm and started for the door while Joyce stifled a giggle, drawing the attention of all three.

“So I'll uh, meet you boys at the school in twenty,” she told her sons before turning to Hop. “Nice to see you,” she smiled, her heart fluttering just the tiniest bit when it was returned.

It might not have been a complete reconciliation like Joyce had hoped for, but she would accept it for what it was; a Christmas armistice in their war. With it came a renewed sense of hope that 1983 could be a fresh start for the both of them.

The boys led Hopper to his marked Chevy parked out in front of the store. The snow was finally tapering off as the temperature started to drop, the tiny flakes sparkling in the soft glow of Hawkin’s street lamps wrapped up in pretty red bows. The street was empty and quiet, the fresh snowfall making it seem like they were the only ones left in town.

"You in a play or something, Tiny Tim?" Hopper called out to the younger Byers boy, who was running ahead outside the store.

"Yeah!" Will turned back to him at the truck and raised the crutch in the air as Hopper approached. "How'd you know?"

"Just a guess… Your mom's real proud, I can tell," Hopper smirked at the kid, despite himself. "Y’know, she used to star in all the school plays when she was your age, too.” He glanced behind the Byers boys to the storefront, where he could see Joyce locking the door behind them. The urge to go back and talk to her was pulling at him now, but he stayed firmly in place.

Jonathan opened the trunk and started to load up the back of the Blazer while the Chief was distracted, exchanging a look with his little brother. Turning back to Hopper, Jonathan grabbed the last of the load from the older man and his attention.

“We have an extra ticket, you know."

"Oh?" Hopper mumbled, Jonathan’s words breaking him from his daze. Firing the styrofoam cups in behind the booze, he slammed the trunk hatch and took a long drag off the cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. He glanced back, but she was gone.

"It was supposed to be for my dad but… he’s not coming,” Will was looking glum, poking holes in the fluffy snow with the end of Tiny Tim’s crutch.

Rage prickled the inside of Hopper's chest as he took in the sad sight. He instantly wished he knocked Lonnie's teeth in a lot sooner than he did.

“You should come," Jonathan perked up, offering Lonnie's ticket to the other man. “She won't mind.”

Hopper highly doubted Joyce would agree with that statement. But then again, after her little grab at attention in Melvald's just now... maybe the kid was right.

“Yeah! You should come,” Will perked up, echoing his brother with a sly look. It was suddenly very apparent the angle was to make him Joyce’s date for the night.

_Nope, sorry boys, not happening._ Maybe in another life.

"Ah thanks, I'd really like to,” he lied, fishing for the keys in his pocket and a quick excuse. “But I have to get this stuff back to the police department. People are waiting on me, important police business, y’know?” he dropped the last of his smoke to the ground and stamped it out.

“Merry Christmas boys, and thanks for the help."

He gave the Byers boys a small salute as he climbed into the truck, frantic to get out of there and away from the barrage of emotions his little errand brought with it. The Chevy’s engine roared as it turned over in the cold, making the boys take a step back onto the curb. He didn't mean to be a jerk, but he was walking a fine line here; he had boundaries to maintain.

Through the fogged up windows, he watched them share a look of disappointment and turn to go.

Hopper’s blackened, frozen heart tapped on his chest to remind him it was still there and he heaved a sighed. Rolling his window down, he called out to Will & Jonathan, "Hey, how about a raincheck for next year?”

"Sure," Will brightened up instantly.

Hopper choked back his smirk, “Break a leg tonight, kid.”

Jonathan chuckled, and Will waved the crutch again with a laugh, “Thanks!”

There — that could be his good deed for the Byers family this holiday season. Even if he couldn’t keep the raincheck next year, the gesture was enough. While Hopper let his diesel warm up, he watched the boys climb into Lonnie’s beat-up, old Ford.

They were good kids. It was clear Joyce had done her absolute best in raising them on her own over the last three years, even if it was only to spite the asshole who fathered them. Hop was sure Sara and Joyce’s youngest would have made great friends, too. A twinge of sorrow hit him at the realization they never even got the chance to meet.

The brothers waved to him once more as they pulled out of the parking stall, leaving just him and Joyce, the only cars parked on Main Street. Deciding it was a good a time as any to chain smoke, he lit up again and idled, getting lost in his thoughts.

Why did he have to stop there instead of the gas station or grocery store? Sure, Melvald’s was the closest store to the police station, but if he really wanted to, he could have gone out of his way to avoid her altogether. Hopper would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t stop in to check up on her, to test the waters. He figured if he was feeling lonely, she was probably lonely too…

Turns out, he wasn’t ready. Seeing Joyce only brought the bad feelings bubbling up to the surface, making him feel worse. Now he had all these unfettered emotions to deal with, and lord knows, it would take weeks to get them back in their bottle.

With nearly twenty years of history between them, they had been through so much. Forgive and forget was easier said than done at this point. There were some words you couldn’t take back, and some things you just couldn’t forgive, and it would take a lot more than some simple pleasantries or a soft touch to make him change his mind and start rebuilding all the bridges Joyce Byers burned.

The cigarette had burned down when the chime of the bells jostled him out of his thoughts, his eyes darting to the rearview. Joyce was locking the deadbolt and hadn’t yet noticed that he was still there. He stubbed the butt out in the ashtray, watching closely as she turned around and saw his truck still parked in front of her store. There was no hiding from her now.

She paused, blinking once, twice. The corner of her lips curled. 

Hopper's eyes flicked to the passenger side mirror to watch as she began walking towards her car, head down, stifling a satisfied smirk in her purse.

Watching Joyce struggle to find her keys through the frost-bitten truck windows was a strange mix of bitter and sweet for Hopper. It was a familiar sight, almost comforting, like shaking up a snowglobe and watching it settle. A shimmer of frost and foggy breath swirled around her head like a halo, and he swore she glowed like a goddamn angel under the lamplight. He fought the impulse to roll down the window and say something, anything, knowing full well a she-devil still lurked underneath that pretty little exterior.

_Danger, Will Robinson._  Time to tread lightly, think logically and not let his festering feelings get the better of him.

She threw him one last look over the roof of the Pinto to let him know she saw him watching her, before climbing in and starting her car. It was the same look that she always shot him right before ripping him to shreds: exasperated, like she was tired of his shit. Hopper had grown to hate that look, yet it still wound him up all the same. She was teasing him now. 

He shook his head, shaming her for playing games.

Joyce shook her head back and flipped him the bird.

Hop narrowed his eyes at her. _Very mature._

She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out, hesitating before finally waving goodbye. Hopper chuckled to himself as Joyce put the car in reverse, a serene sense of nostalgia settling over him then. 

She must have felt it too. Glancing back to him one more time, a tiny smile played about her lips.

He nodded a simple farewell, and she returned it before driving off towards the school, retreating into the dark and silent night. Once she disappeared around the corner, he started to make his way back to the party at the station, turning the radio on to distract himself. 

Hopper wasn’t quite ready to let Joyce back in just yet. Even if they could go back to being friends… Did he really think he could be open with her? Allow himself to be vulnerable? Not when it still felt like everything he ever loved had been taken away from him too soon (including her, more than once).

He’d see how the new year panned out, but he wasn’t sure if he could ever shake this feeling it might never be the same again.

But, dammit if he didn’t miss her anyway.


End file.
